All Our Grand Ambitions
by The Carnivorous Muffin
Summary: After graduating Hogwarts, Tom Riddle finds himself a store clerk while Harry Evans finds herself becoming Indiana Jones. Side fic to "When Harry Met Tom"


**Author's Note: To those about to read this first, this is a side story of "When Harry Met Tom" and if you haven't read that you'll be a tad confused. Second, this is obviously NOT CANON**

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Borgin and Burke's was not the kind of store that had a little chime above the door to announce its visitors. Nor was there the tweeting of birds, explosion of small fireworks, nor any of the other charms that one might find in Diagon Alley. No, Borgin and Burkes had acclimatized well to its location in Knockturn Alley, where the scum of wizarding London, the hags, the whores, and the ne'er-do-wells skulked. Instead there was no real indication of a customer's entrance, except perhaps if one were to peer closely, a dread sneaking mist that would pour in from the outside and into the store. A dull green glow, only a shade or two off of the killing curse, emanating from glittering jewels of unknown origin and jars that held unspeakable wares.

Tom, personally, found it all a bit melodramatic.

Borgin and Burkes was not, in and of itself, a shop of dark wares. In fact, it mostly sold what it advertised, high-end antiques that had one way or another wandered their way into the London shop rather than the vaults of noble and ancient families. Now, that most of these wares were the dark artifacts that clueless inheritors did not want to trifle with, objects obtained by rather dubious means, or else objects that were dangerous if handled incorrectly was more or less beside the point.

Borgin and Burkes was a glorified antique shop, house of enough dangerous power to keep it out of Diagon Alley, that and the Knockturn Alley rent was a very good bargain. Even if you were in the heart of wizarding London, no legitimate business wanted to be across the street from "The Naughty Quaffle".

This was not quite where Tom had pictured himself when he'd graduated Hogwarts.

He'd hoped to take Merrythought's post as Defense professor, however according to that toad Dippet Tom lacked the experience. What Tom really lacked was a) the backing of bloody Albus Dumbledore the nepotistic despot, and b) a pureblood lineage to back up his record breaking exam scores. This was only proven when, to Tom's utter lack of surprise, it was given to one Oliver Brown who had under his belt "a substantial record in Hogwarts dueling club".

Tom hoped they all burned in hell. No, in fact, he willed it. Tom didn't know if anything would come of reading arcane ancient curses from a book lost in the backroom of the store, but God had it felt good.

Still, for better or worse, here he was as a clerk, researcher, and purchase for Mr. Borgin and Mr. Burke. It wasn't the worst thing in the world he could be doing, he supposed, but he would not be lying if he didn't admit to itching at the walls for a chance to leave and do something important.

Something that was not making eyes at old, rich, widows like Hepzibah Smith who happened to own very interesting and very rare items in her collection. Harry, when she had found out, had spent at least ten minutes laughing uncontrollably.

At that thought he heard the door open and slam with a carelessness that could only indicate one customer, or in this case, seller. Tom glanced up from his book, banished it back behind the counter, and did not plaster on his false cheery smile for whoever walked in but instead let an exasperated if fond smile stretch across his face.

Think of the devil, he thought, and Harry Evans shall appear.

She was looking as harried as usual, hair flying out in every direction and breaking free of the high pony tail she'd tried to contain it in. In her green eyes there was that glitter of determination, slight panic, and sheepishness as she waltzed in. And, as usual, she was carrying a seemingly empty pack over her shoulders that was carrying only god knew what in it.

As always, she was quintessentially herself, and looked quite fine.

"Why is it, Harry, that I am never thrilled to see you here?" Tom asked.

She flushed, her lips twisting into that odd grimace that attempted to be a smile, the expression saved for when she was about to lie through her teeth and said, "Because you're jealous of all my weird adventures."

Well, that wasn't a lie. In truth, in his more romantic moments, Tom was rather envious of Harry's position. Harry Evans, as much a mudblood as he himself was if not ten times more so, upon graduation had not managed to find herself any office of employment. She'd flirted, briefly, with the idea of becoming an auror (the only thing she'd considered in any seriousness) but soon enough had made it a habit of wandering off to corners unknown.

Somehow, she always managed to get by without any money in her pocket and only the vaguest idea of where she was going. Tom had told her, upon graduation, that he expected to hear news of her dead in some gutter in Calcutta but she'd waved him off with a grin and some remark of how she'd be fine and was generally immune to death in any form. And go she did, to anywhere and everywhere, chasing strange legends and always returning with some odd distracted look on her face, an abridged version of events that sounded like it should have been an epic for anyone else, and a bag filled with loot that Tom often suspected belonged in one legend or another.

The first time, after returning from "some mysterious hidden island I think" and "some fish lady threw me a sword from this bloke's tomb, maybe, it all happened really fast", she'd handed him what he still suspected was Excalibur taken from the tomb of Arthur Pendragon on the lost island of Avalon. Handing it to him, to sell to the store, because, "Well, even though I managed to kill this giant snake with a sword one time it wasn't really easy. It's a bit heavy for me, clearly built for a man twice my size. Also, I kind of don't want to be king of the Britons."

Tom had smiled, taken it, bought it from Harry for a laughably small fraction of his own commission, and promptly stashed it inside his own squalid flat where it rested in the back of his closet and safely out of the hands of both Borgin and Burke.

This was soon joined by what he suspected, given her tales, the armor of Achilles, the shield of Vishnu and Shiva Jaivardhan, Sir Artegal's sword Chrysaor, the sword of Freyr, the spear Ama-no-Saka-hoko, and many more besides.

His closet was now overflowing with Harry Evans' suspicious, legendary junk. Each, of course, sold to Borgin and Burkes (but really to Tom), for less than Tom would pay for overdecorated scrap metal, with some strange vague tale of how, no, Harry wasn't some kind of mythical prophesied warrior, she just happened to stumble across all these weirdly powerful objects that totally weren't from legend time to time.

Really, Tom, is this the face of a woman who could lie to you?

Still, in the present moment Tom could only smile and state, "Not hardly, Harry."

"Right," Harry drawled, clearly suspecting that he now was lying through her teeth, "Well, you didn't want to come on this one either, believe me."

"Certainly not," Tom agreed pleasantly, his smile not dropping a single inch.

"Merlin's honest truth," Harry said, raising her hands in defense, "Most of it was kind of terrible, like usual. I mean, I was camping for days in the middle of the nowhere, there were mysterious cryptic jackasses saying things that were so confusing I could never remember any of them, some kind of riddle game to the death, and it was just a horrible mess like usual."

"And, as usual, you've come to me with some mysterious object and to ask if you can spend the next three weeks on my couch eating ice cream while you bemoan your fate to God," Tom finished for her.

"That is not what happens!" Harry retorted, scandalized as ever, when they both knew that was exactly what was going to happen. Harry was going to buy him groceries for about a week or so, fall into one of her usual spells of depression whenever one of her quests didn't work out, and then after about a week she'd be full steam ahead off to some other corner of the globe to hunt down some new mystery that might help in her own personal mysterious quest.

Which, of course, she'd still refused to say anything about to Tom whatsoever.

Not that he really cared one way or another, Tom had his own life to deal with, he didn't need Harry Evans' insane problems on top of that. That, and whenever he did inquire too closely, Harry tended to get cagey and aggressive. It was just easier for all involved that Tom politely nodded along whenever she showed her face.

That, and she was the only friend he had, it would be a shame to lose her.

"So, with that," Harry hauled off her pack with a sigh, set it on the floor, and practically fell inside the thing as she searched for her latest find. Finally, she reemerged, this time holding a mysterious jade monkey, "What in the bloody hell is this and will it buy me a new Spring wardrobe?"

It was, Tom supposed as he sighed and raked a hand through his hair, a very good thing neither Borgin nor Burke knew about Harry Evans. Though, as always, he wondered how it was he lived in a world where only he and perhaps Alphard Black ever seemed to truly notice the chaotic wunderkind that was Harry.

Well, it was better this way, Tom preferred the best things in his life kept secret.

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 **Author's Note: Written for the 700th review of "When Harry Met Tom" by Craptastic who asked for a fic depicting Harry in this universe when she's all grown up. She's as ridiculous as ever, as is Tom.**

 **Thanks for reading, reviews are much appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**


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